At the End
by Dagdoth Fliesh
Summary: She would grow old, and die a miserable death in a sickbed. There was no Glory in that death.  F DovahkiinxOdahviing
1. Feim:  Fade

"Odahviing," the name slipped out, without her knowledge of what she had said. She had always loved the sound of the dovah speech in her mouth, whether it were thu'um or name. It was as if her blood boiled with each syllable dropped from her tongue. The end of an era had come and gone - - the moot had summoned the Jarl of Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak, as the new High King. Dovahkiin had found herself lost of purpose, had dabbled in the various organizations that came and went through Skyrim, public and… non-_public._ Alduin was defeated, banished from Mundus forever, and Sovngarde had been freed from his soul devouring mists. Sometimes, Dovahkiin thought she could hear the Hero's praises from beyond the dark veil of death when she pushed too hard, caught too many arrows in the _knee_.

She smiled briefly, before it faded and she returned to watching the mountain peaks from Sky Haven Temple. The quiet calmed her, and if she listened hard, she could hear Sovengard's Heroes in their great hall.

Sovngarde's song often called to her. The sensation was odd, and her immortal _Dov_ blood denied its song while her human body often followed its pull. It was a strong song, one that could not be uttered in the realm of mortals, deep and thrumming, like that of the thu'um, yet not. The sound was deep, of drums and countless warrior's voices. Dovahkiin's memories of Sovngarde were hazy, but the smell of roast ox came to mind, of sweet meads, and the great terrible - -

"_Dovahkiin!_" The words were like thunder, and the great wings of the reptile that circled above shot the Dragonborn to her feet from the stone-cold bench. The earth trembled under the mighty Dovah Odahviing as he landed upon the edge of the cliff. His tail shook the ground as it slapped, throwing a cloud of dust from the ground, his foul breath promising molten fire. "Long has it been since I've heard your _Thu'um_, _fahdon,_ friend."

The great beast looked upon her, and she looked back upon him. His coal black eyes held little warmth, and pierced her. She who had slew so many of his kind. His scales were red like blood and layered with protruding bones and spikes. His teeth yellowed with age but sharp. Between them a hot breath poured in her direction, a flicker of flame. She was reminded of the time they first met, in the Dragonsreach. It seemed so long ago.

Dovahkiin smiled softly, "I am sorry, Odahviing-" her blood lurched at the sound, how her tongue rolled the name, like fire between her lips. "I forgot how powerful my _Thu'um_ is. I've been distracted as of late."

"_Aam_?" She was not sure he believed her. Her _Thu'um_ had destroyed Alduin, after all. His voice grated, so low she felt the stones beneath her feet shake, pebbles jumping up from the ground. But she was no fool, Odahviing was not as patient as Paarthurnax, the _Kruziik Gein - - Ancient One._

"I will age," Dovahkiin smiled shortly. "I will no longer be the Dovahkiin that slew Alduin; if I were to face him then-" she couldn't resist using more of the words, "_Geinmaar sol dir_, I would die." Now the ground shook at her voice, fearful of the fading legend she was becoming. Even the peoples of Skyrim talked of her vaguely, as if she'd already died. A hero who touched Nirn for only a moment and then was gone.

He took a moment to ponder her words before replying, "_Hin Thu'um los mul kruz,_ your voice is strong still."

The Dovahkiin closed her eyes against the heat of his maw, and lifted her hands to her confining helm. The Dragon Plated armor had been forged for her by Eorlund Gray-Mane at the Skyforge behind Jorrvaskr. It felt right, somehow, to be covered in the scales and bones of dragons, as if her human skin was not enough for her _Dov_ blood. The crisp air caught her freed hair and blew the auburn strands forth. She thought it fitting, in that moment, that the sun made it the color of flame.

The Dovahkiin's face was dirty, and her war-paint faded. "I am mortal," was her reply. "I may have a Dov's blood, but I am human still. I will grow weak with age, and I will die."

These were the thoughts that the hero thought at each passing moment. She would grow old, and die a miserable death in a sickbed. There was no glory in that death. She feared it unreasonably so. She heard Sovngarde's song, yet would she be worthy of it if that were to be her death? All her foes had died already.

The dragon's breaths rumbled loud in her ears, bringing her back from her quiet musings. His wings were large, taking much of the court-space - - but Odahviing was an elder dragon. He, a _Dovah_, was the very image of power. It left a quiet but calming thought in her mind.

"At the end," she bore her steel colored eyes into his cold reptilian orbs, "Would you end _me_?"

Odahviing let out a shuddering snarl. It's sound was unlike any she had heard before. And yet she saw the fire in his eyes. "_Hiin lor moro_," The _Dovah_ unfurled his great wings with a force that was hard to stand against, even for her, as it always was facing a terrible beast like the dragon. "You want _glory?_"

"I want _mercy!_" she snapped back at the suddenly callous dragon.

His patience had worn, she noted with a bitter/wry humor. With one sweep of his great veined wings, Odahviing had dove from the cliff-face. A roar echoed in her ears, drowning out Sovngarde's call for the time. The great winged beast disappeared as he had come, like angry thunder.

The Dovahkiin sank back to the bench, and stared into her helm, as if it had a face. "It's mercy I want," her voice was humble then, only the winds to hear her. "_Hiin lor aaz."_

* * *

><p>Thank you for reading; reviews and critiques are much appreciated! I get strange ideas for stories when I'm up for a few days straight (night work schedules tend to do that).<p>

Because there is no "complete" dovah language, I took a little precedence when wording things but here are the translations to the Dovah language written. Those with a * are made up, lol.

Aam: (a sound of disbelief)  
>Aaz: mercy<br>Dir: die  
>Dov: the dragon race<br>Dovah: (a) dragon  
>Dovahkiin: "Dragonborn"<br>Fahdon: friend  
>Geinmaar: oneoneself  
>Gein: one (as in a person)<br>Hiin: (informal) you  
>Hin: (formal) your<br>Kruz: still/yet  
>Kruziik: Ancient<br>*Lor: want  
>*Los: is<br>Moro: glory  
>Mul: Strong<br>Odahviing: "Winged Snow Hunter"  
>*Sol: would<br>Thu'um: Shout


	2. Joor: Mortal

Many thanks to my readers! Thank you to BrokenShadowBreeze, Culebra del Sol, IceyVampire, melgonzo, Mari-chan83, sesshoumarucrazy for adding and alerting this story!

Review answering time!

Sin of the Fallen: You pinned it! I was drawing off that thought. Cuz, I mean, what's Dovahkiin to do after doing her/his task?

IceyVampire: I probably wouldn't have either, only I was up for 24 some hours and my brain went coo coo, lol, I'm pleased with the results though!

Catcher in the light: The thesaurus is my favorite part of works word processor lol, I don't have to strain my poor head too much. I'm so happy you like the wording, because I'm never sure if I've overdone it. I don't think it would be easy to have a relationship with a dragon, I suppose there'd have to be a lot of strength bluffing and puffing. I looked back through the grammar but I couldn't find the mistakes D: oh noes! Thanks for your wonderful review, it really vamped me up!

x-Beyond-B: No worries, I'm still here! :D I just have a horrible work schedule to contend with periodic spasms of laziness! LOL.

Sometimes to explain meanings I put brackets around numbers in the story. This is just leading to an authors note at the end if you want an explanation. Thanks all for your patience with the update, but don't let me keep you from reading! Enjoy ~ 3

Please review for me! I means a lot!

Chapter 1

The bandit fell before her, raising his hands to beg mercy. But Dovahkiin was in no mood for the backhanded tactics his kind often employed. Her eyes were ice, and looking into those orbs, the bandit instantly knew his fate. Dovahkiin screamed, a raw fury that engulfed her. Her armor vibrated like the living dragon it had once belonged to. The shout had no Words of Power, but its force crushed the bandit, leaving his body in tatters. She was all but spitting flame.

The road was long, and her feet were weary. She had no time for the likes of cutthroats. Dovahkiin sweated, her blood boiling in her heavy armor. Her shield arm was heavy that day, and her sword arm numb. The road she traveled was far to the east, on paths rarely traveled - - a perfect escape, for men or _Dov_ alike.

Weeks had past since her encounter with the _Dovah_ Odahviing. The proud dragon refused to answer her _Thu'um_ now, and it made the Dovahkiin quite upset. And Dovahkiin did not get upset. Odahviing could hear a whisper of his name from the Throat of the World, and yet he could not hear the _Voice?_ Conceited dragon indeed. Let the beast simmer - - she would find a good death without him. His refusal had wounded her own pride, but she pushed the thought aside as there were plenty deaths worth dying. Yet her bumptious blood tickled her mind - - _She was Dovahkiin, mighty slayer of dragons. What was more Heroic than one final battle against her sworn enemies? Fighting them to the last._ And indeed, those dragons she had not slain before Alduin's defeat had crept back into the crevices of the world, far from the watching eyes of men and mer. Far from _her_ eyes. Odahviing… Odahviing was a _Dovah_ easily accessible.

Dovahkiin found herself walking east of late. She had no business in the cities of Winterhold, Windhelm, nor Riften, and yet her straying thoughts pulled her mind down roads least traveled. She pondered her death with great certainty; the same certainty as the Old Orc she had crossed before slaying Alduin. He was aging, set on a vision of Malacath in Oblivion. Not able to become Chief, too old to marry.

"_I'm waiting for a good death,_" he had said, with a calm firmness. Two dead Saber Cats lay at his feet. Dovahkiin gave it.

Odahviing refused to give her hers.

Gritting her teeth, the Dragonborn stabbed her sword into the cold ground of the haphazard pathway. Perhaps if she waited, her death would come as it had to the orismer? But the more she thought about it, the more absurd it became. Malacath had no claim on her, why should he give her the same as the Old Orc? She had dabbled in the Princes; Sheogorath, Hircine, Nocturnal, Azura. A Champion without _claim_. They needed their champion alive. Yet Sovngarde called. If she waited, who would find her? The passing noble between the Jarls? More bandits? Perhaps a troll or giant? Standing still and letting the foul creatures hit her with clubs seemed a weak death for one who had slain Alduin, the World Eater. She who had plowed through the most powerful Draugr, broken and ripped wings of the most powerful Dragons.

The woman scoffed and plucked Dragonbane forth from the ground, giving it a keen eye. The ancient Akaviri sword had been restored by her tedious care of the weapon, and for a short moment, she regretted plunging it into the hard ground; did it not deserve respect? Perhaps a resting place above her mantel in Whiterun? She discarded that idea too. This sword was her legacy as Dragonborn. It slew Alduin, and thus she would die with it. Even her blood, her _Dovah_'s soul, agreed without question.

Her anger with Odahviing on standstill, Dovahkiin wiped the blade's grit away, sheathing it properly. Her anger would rise again soon, but she displaced it quietly in bodily aches.

Before her the lowland sprawl echoed with mumbles of hidden power, as if the earth itself sought to rise forth. The rocks were jagged, and a hazy cloud moved across the scarce withered trees that managed to survive the arid soil. Dragon's Tongue and a few dried grasses crunched beneath her tired feet as the woman made towards the mining community of Kynesgrove. The sun had sank low, disappearing behind distant mountains. Knowing the community had an inn, Dovahkiin decided to rest until morning.

Stepping through the door, the tavern quieted for a moment to survey the knight. Dovahkiin scanned their curious and distrustful eyes. As she de-helmed she approached the innkeeper, a woman she had passingly helped in her troubles. A spark of recognition flared in the Nord's eye, and she spoke before Dovahkiin could. "Hail, friend, what can I do for you?"

The miners returned to their mead, nothing amiss; setting a purse of gold on the counter, Dovahkiin requested a room, "In the corner side, please." Gold accepted, she turned to her room. Quaint and small, the room lacked the wash-bin Dovahkiin yearned to get travels dirt from her body. The woman emerged only in a dark tunic and Dragonbane attached at the hip. Little notice was taken of her departure from the inn, nor did the chickens mind her light footsteps as she wandered river-way.

The air was cool on her skin from the sweltering dragon-scales, and her breath misted slightly in the darkening daylight. Beneath her feet torchbugs rose and floated aimlessly to attract their mates, and she could hear the distant howling of a wolf. She strolled for someway up river before crossing a secluded area which meandered and slowed, allowing easy reflections of the Dovahkiin's features.

She kneeled and looked into the silvery water. Gray eyes stared back, their expression worked and distant, her brow furrowed to give the slight hint of antipathy. Her red hair took an auburn shade in the dark, and her skin, pasty from the shelter of heavy armor, had a glowing look, yet it was tapered with scars from burns and claws, to fangs and weapons.

Dovahkiin sighed and unbuckled _Dragonbane's_ sash, stiffly pulling off her clothes and resting them on the shore. Although the valley was warm, the water was not. The woman dared to enter and sink into the cold depths, emerging only long enough to clear the water from her eyes. She did not mind the harsh temperature, but would have preferred her wash-bin in Whiterun to the river.

An hour passed. As she stood waist deep, wringing water from her long red locks, she slowly noticed an odd ringing in her ears. It was low and deep, reminding her of Dwemer ruins, or perhaps the sound of a war drum. Head hazy, she turned to find the source of the noise. A gale wind flew up, and her eyes went skywards at the clap of thunder.

At first, she thought the Dovah was Odahviing. With its second pass, she realized it wasn't. A furious roar blared out, with eyes like the liquid fires of the Red Mountain. For a long moment, she was stunned by the wyrm's odd appearance, preventing any chance, or even the thought of using Dragonrend. The Dovah's scales were an odd pale yellow in the moonlight, tapering with colors of soot and ebony, the underbelly and throat a translucent white, much like the Falmer. She could see the beast's heart pumping black vicious blood in its chest. The dragon- which had obviously seen her - passed by, headed towards _Kynesgrove_, molten flame pouring from its jowls. (1)

The woman's stomach sank, and she broke from the water, racing each clap of the dragon's wings to her clothes, to her sword, back to the village.

But a serpent's wings are far faster than human feet.

The dragon's roar sounded like a tormented scream and as Dovahkiin broke from the trees. She saw the hot red flames spray from its open jaw upon the buildings into a bellowing conflagration. The light was blinding, and yells of fear and pain echoed into the night. In that moment, Dovahkiin realized she'd lost sight of the beast, and whirled. Claws came for her then, like ebony daggers, and she threw herself sideways into the dirt. The shadowed monster bellowed and plucked a helpless man from the ground into the air, dropping him from a vast height. His body impacted near the Dragonborn, mangled and torn.

"_Dovahkiin_!" the Dovah's voice was brimstone, grating, taunting her into action. "_Nahkriin; Vulthuryol erei suleyk se _Alduin!_" _

Enraged, Dovahkiin struggled to her feet and drew Dragonbane, holding it two handed. "Here I am, _Dovah!_" Her body still ached, she was weary. She had no shield, and her armor was covered by the burning inn. She panted from running, sweated fresh grit from the heat.

Time stood still for Dovahkiin, there was only Vulthuryol and her sword, the heat of flame singeing her skin and the smell of cooking flesh, the beating of the dragon's wings. Beyond the dragon's dark gaze she sensed her fading will. A song, solemn and understanding. A song that had no place but Sovngarde. And its place could not be now, surely not, when she was still so _young_. And in that instant of knowing her death, even as a good one, it was not yet wanted.

"_JOOR-!_" The very air shook at her _Thu'um_, the Dragonrend, boiling into the Dovah's immortal flesh. But the full Shout was cut short by the wyrm's own.

That fiery breath engulfed her, and the woman bit back a cry of pain as her mortal flesh burned, but her soul was dov, and resisted his Voice(2). Both did fall; the woman in agony and Dovah only with clipped wings.

Dovahkiin had known fear before - - it had been long since she'd felt it's dark claws. Although bitter and sharp, it filled her soul with energy and gave her strength. She managed again to her feet, her eyes blurred on the great shadow of the serpent before her, stung by the smoke. Fresh blood ran down her skin, a mortal's blood.

'_This is not my time,_' her thoughts rampant, the woman drew breath and grit her teeth, '_This is not my death, Sovngarde!'_

She screamed defiance and the earth rumbled.

Vulthuryol recoiled as Dragonrend broke. His wings spread and lifted the great lizard, and the wind threw Dovahkiin to the ground.

And in that moment, she saw something… odd. As she sat up, the gusts of wind seemed to take form. She recognized the figures, Hakon One-Eye, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, and Felldir the Old stood before her - - those who had threw Alduin asunder with time at the Throat of the World. Their mouths moved, their voices distant, incomprehensible. The beating of Vulthuryol's wings was distant, and Hakon One-Eye drew close, holding out his ethereal hand.

Dovahkiin knew his hand was death.

Vulthuryol swooped one last time, and as Dovahkiin closed her tired eyes, to the sound of Hero's voices, she felt suddenly cold. She knew she would die.

* * *

><p>Dovahkiin did not remember Sovngarde being <em>damp<em>. Nor did she remember it feeling so heavy and painful.

She broke through the darkness of sleep with a loud gasp. Droplets of chilled water fell on her face further rousing the Dragonborn. When she attempted to rise, she couldn't.

"That is not a good idea, _Dovahkiin. Hiin grah dinok_, you battle death."

For her being so close to death, Odahviing did not _sound_ worried. It was his breath that melted the snow and made the earth damp. His hide shook with every breath he took, echoing in the cave like the snores of a bear. The thought brought back his first words to her.

"_Nid! Horvutah med kodaav!"_ He had said - - "No! Caught like a bear in a trap!" within Dragonsreach. Bear indeed.

Dovahkiin coughed out a painful laugh, bringing tears to her already swollen eyes. She tasted blood in her mouth. "You…" she managed, "worry now?" It was an odd thought that he would worry for her.

"_Aam," _he declined, his hot breath washing over her bare skin. Odahviing's lizard-like features couldn't express human emotion, but in his voice Dovahkiin detected an unsure tone. It seemed wrong for a powerful Dovah to lie between his knifelike teeth.

"I am sorry," the warrior croaked; she had doubted him. She attempted rising again, but found her wounds too deep and fresh, her strong body in tatters like the banners of old ruins. "Aggh," she grunted and fell back again, clenching her gaze against pain. Her eyes watered and didn't clear. "Am I to die?" she asked quietly, uncertain, and… she'd never felt this way about death… scared?

Odahviing's breaths thrummed the air, powerful and deep. The great red wyrm lowered his neck as one great wing furled over her body, warming her blood. Dovahkiin peered into the dragon's yellow eye that peered back unflinchingly.

"Take hold while there is still strength - _mulaag_ - in your body_, Dovahkiin_."

Dovahkiin had done thus only once before. As she raised her hand to his glossy hide, struggling even to grasp one of his thick horns, she remembered her trip to Sovngarde, and the long journey to Skuldafin far to the east. Perhaps not so far now. It had been a situation far different than this, when she had much strength. As the Dragonborn pulled her body up onto the Dovah's neck, with the help of his wing, the feeling came back to her, the rush of wind in her hair, the feeling of flight. His great crimson horns felt like ivory under her hands, slick and cool, his scales like textured leather - - but hard and thick.

She barely realized they had moved from the cave, before, from her precarious perch on the dragons neck, Dovahkiin had extended beyond the cliff-face. It was a sheer drop, hundreds of feet or more, ice and pointed stones that broke the fairest of adventuring hearts. A freezing wind wrapped her bones, and her vision strayed outwards to the sprawling landscape of Skyrim. Her dov blood reeled, dangerously hot, and her hands clutched the horns. There was something forbidden in this act, of flying. Akatosh had only blessed her soul, after all - - he had not given mer nor man wings. Odahviing gave little warning before he dove, and with a plummeting sensation in her belly, Dovahkiin went back into her blissful sleep.

Dovahkiin was not aware of passing time. She knew hands cared for her, and that was all she cared for. From time to time, she heard the rumble of thunder, felt a hot anger over her skin before it swelled into the cool bliss of healing magic. Slowly, the drumming of her heart stood loud before the drums of Sovngarde; she lived yet.

Dovahkiin opened her eyes. Bleak light strayed through the window above her head, and rain thumped upon the vaulted roofing as she looked around the quarters. A close flash of lightning was followed by a tremendous clap of thunder, which lit the room starkly. The four-post bed was too soft for the Dragonborn's liking, and a hot cast of coals had been placed beneath to give warmth. The room however was decorated moderately, and she knew she'd stayed here, after first becoming known as Dragonborn, at Jarl Balgruuf the Greater's whim.

"That damnable dragon," she heard a Whiterun guard say, as his distinctive trappings past the open door, "is it still there?"

His companion shifted uncomfortably, "It's perched on the upper platform. Best listen to Farengar, least its mood change. We don't need it attacking Whiterun…" his voice faded down the hall.

The woman strained, using her weak muscles to pull herself up, and from the bed. Dressed only in a light tunic, she wobbled towards the hallway and grasped the doorway for support. It was close to night, little light permeated the war quarter of Dragonsreach. Down the hallway the court wizard Farengar Secret-Fire strolled, his dark robes shifting with each booted step. He raised his head, seeing the Dragonborn awake.

"Dragonborn!" he exclaimed in surprise, rather than in worry, quickening to her side. His arcane hands touched her shoulders, as if to force her again into bed. "You're awake. I thought you were going to die when you first arrived. It is a good thing I am also proficient with restoration."

She resisted the mild strength of his arms, "Where is Odahviing?" Dovahkiin asked, meeting the scholar's gaze with a wearisome note. "The _dovah?_"

"Dovah?" Farengar's understanding was quick from the Dragonstone, the _Dovahgolz. _Seeing the Dovahkiin's wishes, he concurred. "The dragon, Odahviing, is outside. I'll escort you."

His condescending air never left, however under the arrogant breath of Odahviing, the wizard was nothing.

* * *

><p>Rereading this made me realize that the third paragraph was foreshadowing. LOL.<p>

Notes/Translations

(1) I figured even a dragon would feel the physical effects of living so long underground. Picturing a big see-through dragon makes me squirm, kinda. LOL. That and I need to set Vulthuryol apart :D

(2) This is my idea of why Dovahkiin doesn't turn into a crispy chicken after battling dragons, lol :P

Aam: Noise of disagreement.

Dov: Dragon kind.

Dovah: Dragon.

Dovahgolz: The Dragonstone

Dovahkiin: Dragonborn.

Drem: Peace. (_Drem yol lok _is "Greetings.")

_Hiin grah dinok - _"You battle death."

Mulaag: Strength.

_Nahkriin; Vulthuryol erei suleyk se Alduin! - "Vengeance; [I] Vulthuryol am as strong as Alduin!" _

_*Vulthuryol is a hidden dragon found in Blackreach. It's speculated that no one knew of him because he was long underground. His name means Dark Fire Overlord. (One can reach him by using Unrelenting Force on the big orange orb)._

_Thu'um: Shout._


End file.
